All The Things I Wasn't
by massivelyattacked
Summary: Hawke's rivalry with her brother Carver may have extended into their adult lives, but its beginnings were in the childhood of the two siblings.  And he never said that she was the reason for the contention.


**Hawke's rivalry with her brother Carver may have extended into their adult lives, but its beginnings were in the childhood of the two siblings. And he never said that she was the reason for the contention.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**Characters belong to Bioware/EA. Perhaps if I worked there, they'd let me own a little bit of them too…**

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><p><em>Hours of hiding, spent apart…the wall was all we'd share<br>About the closest you could get…about all I would bear  
>Don't tell me all the things I wasn't could have made this big a difference<br>To all the things you are_

_Years of listening, taking in…to one day take away  
>From all the guilt and pity I could barely keep at bay<br>Don't tell me all the things I wasn't could have made this big a difference  
>To all the things you are<em>

Malcolm Hawke was always proud to be a mage. He was even more proud that his two daughters were also blessed with the gift. But no matter how hard he tried to get through, the boy begotten by the man never felt like his own. From the time he was a small lad, he fought with his sisters – always reprimanded sharply by his father. He knew that the young boy seemed to resent the abilities of his older sister as soon as he was old enough to recognize that she wasn't quite the same as him. And when his twin began to display similar talents, Carver began an all out revolt against his family. He bullied both of the girls relentlessly. He ignored his father's words to him. He even went so far as to regularly threaten to turn them all in to the templars when he was particularly angered by his treatment.

The boy would lock himself away in his room when he was driven to that point. There was nothing Malcolm could do to talk him out of there – his wife Leandra would be forced to intervene; to be the peacekeeper.

"You didn't mean that," she'd always say to her son. And Carver would ignore her through the door. She'd whisper comforting words to him – to make him feel appreciated. To make him feel a part of the family. He would eventually give in to her words, and the door would click. The woman would bring him a fresh glass of goat's milk and he would accept it, albeit begrudgingly.

For days after such incidents, Carver's eyes would not meet those of his father. It stung the man deeply that his son could be so cruel to his sisters…and to him. It was hatred that he had seen before – when he was in the Circle. He was hated for what he was, not who he was, and his son – his own son – was displaying the same characteristics as those templars who locked him away…guarded him…for so many years.

He wished that he had the courage to take his son by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. He wanted to explain that it never mattered to him that he had no magic within him – that he was happy that he was his son, regardless of what he could or couldn't do. He wanted the boy to protect his sisters, because eventually he would not be around to do that himself and he feared for his little girls.

But as the boy grew up, the two grew further apart. Carver was withdrawn from all in his family except for his mother. Malcolm suspected he felt that she was the only one who could understand him – she was the only member of the family besides him without arcane abilities. But she could never provide what he was truly looking for. He yearned for a father who could instruct him in swordplay…who would take him hunting…who he could introduce to the girls and women he would eventually fall in love with and _not_ be afraid that she would turn his family over to the Chantry. He wanted to be _normal_. And Malcolm knew that he could never be the father to his son that his son needed him to be.

It was therefore no shock when Carver returned home one day with his announcement: he was joining the King's Army. He would receive training at Ostagar, returning home once a fortnight – if that often. No more than three days passed from his notice and he was gone from their home. His visits began to decline immediately – he returned with far less frequency as the days passed.

Leandra was saddened at the development with her son, but Malcolm was devastated at the loss. Each time Carver left their homestead, he was afraid it would be the last time he saw his son.

It was the second winter of the boy's training when Malcolm took ill – the sickness wasting away from within. Word was sent to the camp, but his son never arrived. He prayed to the Maker to look upon the boy's face one last time…before the end…before the disease claimed him.

_The time apart, I've realized the name's the most we've shared  
>Unlike you there's no way I could spend forever there<br>Don't tell me all the things I wasn't could have made this big a difference  
>To all the things you are<em>

It has been months since I've seen him…the man I should call father. Word came to advise me he is ill. Yet I don't know if I can face him. I'll never be what he wanted me to be…I'll never be one of his precious daughters, with their…abilities. It has always been about them. My darling twin and our _wonderful_ older sister. And their talent. Their abilities. The way they can manipulate the cursed Fade. An outcast in my own family. Yet, I'm the only one that's really free.

I am thankful that I am here…in the King's Army. I am part of a family…one that really accepts me. We train together so often that it's as if we are a part of one body…each an extension off of the torso. I know the movement of my brothers and sisters…and they know mine. None of us require magic.

Perhaps one day I can return to them. Perhaps that will be the day I have the courage to tell him that I never needed him…never needed his magic. That I became the man I am today _in spite of_ all of his holding me back. I was being stifled in that village…within my own family. And he was never the father I needed – he never could have been.

I feel a twinge of jealousy when I see messages being delivered to my fellows from their families back home. But then…why should I feel that way? This is all the family I need. Still, it surprises me to see the messenger walking in my direction. Message in hand.

The messenger is grim faced. The news is dire. My father is dead.

Never knowing all the things I am…

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><p>Lyrics in italics from "All The Things I Wasn't" by The Grapes of Wrath, 1989.<p> 


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